


Can You Hear Me, Major Tom?

by CopperBeech



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Animals, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Heartbreak, I have probably lost my mind, Jealousy, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Animal, POV First Person, POV Outsider, POV Third Person, Rats, Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Soppy, The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22795837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperBeech/pseuds/CopperBeech
Summary: Armageddidn't has brought a rewarding end to the long, difficult dance between Crowley and his Angel.But Crowley's got another important relationship. And that's a problem.The lobby presented them with the peculiar tableau of the day concierge, a woman normally of grey-coiffed, formidable severity, hunkered on her stylish heels atop the reception desk while she spoke into a telephone handset.“No, I need someone right away. Tuesday won’t do. I tell you he was right up next to my keyboard, eating my Hob Nobs… Well, if you can’t, then I’ll just have to call another exterminator. This is an exclusive building, we can’t have giant rats sauntering round bold as brass  –– Oh, Mister Crowley. Ah – I –– you’ve got a bit of mail – “ She looked nervously down at the floor, peered under the desk, tucking her knees together in a gymnastic agony of propriety.“It can wait, Amelia.”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Original Non-Human Character, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Original Non-Human Character
Comments: 138
Kudos: 380
Collections: Ixnael’s Recommendations, Ixnael’s SFW corner, Shinbi34's Recommendations





	Can You Hear Me, Major Tom?

**Author's Note:**

> So when GayDemonicDisaster cheered the appearance of Crowley's "Rat Army" at the end of my last, I realized it was the first time, after forty fics, that I'd even thought of featuring the rats.
> 
> This seemed a grave omission. I may have gone overboard.
> 
> T rating only for a couple of F-bombs.

I have already lived longer than any of my kind, five times as long, yet there is no white in my fur and I have the vigour of a youngling. My Master no longer requires the services of me that once He did, but I stand always ready to rally the troops for Him as I have so many times, to lead them wherever He commands; and then return to Him when He calls, to be carried in His pocket, fed sweeter tidbits than I ever see Him eat.

My name is Biggest-Of-Litter-Who-Hides-In-Daylight, because my fur is mottled and if I am still, the two-leggers can look straight at me without seeing me. But He calls me Major Tom, and sings the name to me, at least as two-leggers understand song – when He pets me in the evening, watching the moving-picture-box and sipping the drinks he likes, that sear my nostrils (for He is very powerful and nourishes himself by drinking fire); or when He lifts me from my cage and says “It’s time to lead my army.” And I go forth, and bring my kind to do his bidding, and wait to hear the voice as if He were beside me: “Ground Control to Major Tom!” Then I know it’s time to return, and there’ll be special treats, bits of apple and nuts, that He’ll let me nibble out of His palm.

We learn to fear and fight before we're weaned. The two-leggers hate us, and try to kill us when they see us, though we ask for so little and they have so much; what they toss away is a feast to us. I learned quickly to hide when I saw them, to flee the blow of a broom or the bark of a dog, to thread my way through places hidden from their eyes.

But He was different; when He saw me, dodging behind a rubbish bin, He squatted down on His heels and said, “Well, aren’t you a pretty one. C'm'ere, little fellow,” and He snapped His fingers and I had to go, and I didn’t fear Him. “Come home with me,” He said, and He stroked me between the ears with a single finger, where our Mother licked us when we were pups. “Things are getting difficult. I need a good field commander.” And this was the first time I understood their speech.

He put me in His pocket then – it was warm and snug – and when He drew me out, I was _inside_ a two-legger burrow, huge and empty with almost no hiding places, but He set me down on a table nearly covered by an enormous cage. There was fresh wood-shaving litter to nestle in, what I later learned were playthings, and the clearest, cleanest water to drink, and food that had never been inside a bin. “Go on, new home, check it out,” He said. “Gonna be some hard work, but I’ll make it worth your while. What’s your name then?”

I told Him, and I think He actually understood our tongue, but: “That’s too long, how’ll I call you?” And so I became Major Tom.

Sometimes Master's a snake, and I should fear Him, but He says I needn’t, and I nestle in His coils. When He’s a two-legger I lie on His chest while He watches the picture-box or listens to two-legger song; I come when He calls, He always has something sweet for me, and sometimes He lets me snuffle in His head fur; sometimes, when He sleeps, I curl up on the pillow, or on His chest for warmth. When He’s not in the burrow I stay in the cage, but somehow it’s always clean, and no matter how long He’s away, there's clear water and food such as I never tasted before Him. I always have everything I need, but my heart leaps with gladness when He returns, for I love Him.

And so we lived for more than ten years, when most of my kind are grey and frail after two or three; young soldiers I've led on his errands are long lost to memory.

And then. Then everything changed.

* * *

I knew Master was unquiet, for I’d learned His moods. He could blaze with anger (though never at me); the growing things in the burrow all trembled when he entered. (I would comfort them sometimes, when I was loosed to scurry through the rooms; I knew He only wanted them to be beautiful, and I took care never to touch a tooth to any.) He gave me the same good things to eat, but left me in my cage, and I feared He might be growing old at last, though two-leggers live long. He spoke with others in a way He often did, from far away through the picture-box and the ghost-sound-machine that plays His songs; that wasn’t strange, but for other two-leggers to enter the burrow, that was new. I was afraid, and messed in my litter, for I could smell His fear, and I had never known Master to fear before. There were terrible sounds, and raised voices, and for a time I became like a nestling again, mind blank and full of trembling. Loud noises and shouts were all in a day’s work when I went forth for Him, but not here, not in the safe burrow. When I came to myself He had gone, and I was afraid for Him.

The hours drew out. I could feel Him a little, as I always do, but there was no comfort in my toys or my running wheel; my food tasted of dust. I was curled in the litter when the door of the burrow snicked open.

 _He had another two-legger with him_. Not one of those who’d come before; this one was tired and afraid like Master, his head fur so pale, full of the lights that my eyes and Master’s can see but most two-leggers can’t. Master poured fire to drink, and gave some to the other, which is how I knew that one was also powerful, and I didn’t like him. “Here, want you to meet someone,” He said, and took me from the cage where I was still shaking. “It’s okay, Major Tom. I’m back. Here, angel, this is the Major, leads my army. Say hello, Tom.”

I shrilled angrily. I did not want to say Hello to this one.

“Try giving him a bit of this, he’s as spoiled about what he eats as you are.”

The pale-fur two-legger didn’t seem too friendly. But he held out the little morsel, then jumped back, _Ow! Nipped me!,_ to suck on his finger.

Well, I did. I love fresh celery, but I didn’t want food from any hand but Master’s.

“Damn! Sorry. ‘Spect he's still upset. Hastur and Ligur made a bloody racket and a half.”

“Let me clean up there. I think I can still rise to the necessary miracle.”

I saw the smile Master gave him as He turned away, and I hated him; for that smile faded as He turned to me, gave me a few special bits to eat – I took them, for my hunger was coming back – and then _put me back in the cage_ with only a single stroke on the head. “Long night’s work ahead of us, Tom,” He said, and He did not mean _you and me_. “Get some sleep.”

Oh, I did not sleep. I huddled in the litter and watched as they talked, paced, touched hands, spoke in one another’s melodies. Master imitates my talk when I snuggle on His chest; I didn’t like to hear Him do the same with another. The sun was already up when Master said “Time?” and the other one nodded, and I almost messed again in my litter, for something big and disturbing began to happen, and when I looked out from the curls of shaved wood there was Master, wearing the other’s face. I would know Him anywhere, no matter how He looked, just as I know Him when He’s a snake.

I couldn’t take food from that hand, so unlike His.

“He’ll settle,” I heard in that _so wrong_ voice. “Rough day for all of us. Leaving this open, little man. If I – if we – don’t come back – you’ll be free. I showed you the back way out, you remember, down through the ductwork. Know you’ll find your way. Try St. James’s Park. Always people there throwing bread to the birds. Good scavenging.”

* * *

He would go from me like that? The time passed in grief, and loneliness, and misery.

I wondered how long I should wait. Master’s gone for many days sometimes. I decided to wait until the food and water ran out. If that happened, I would know He had truly left me. _Free,_ He’d said, as if I wanted to be free when I was His.

I could leave my cage, but it seemed wrong without Him. The sun went over the burrow, and came in on the other side, and had dropped to almost nothing when I heard voices outside – laughing, and footfalls, and oh, it was my Master; I ran back and forth in the cage for joy, tipped my food dish over.

I stood in the cage door, waiting for Him to come and lift me out as He always does when He returns. But He didn’t. I heard the other voice, the hateful voice, say quietly, “ _I do love nothing in the world so well as you. Is that not strange?”_

And my Master, sounding nothing like Himself, answered: “ _As strange as the thing I know not.”_

“I thought you’d remember. You always did like the funny ones... _And do not you love me?”_

And as they passed my cage Master took the chubby two-legger into his arms, and pulled his head to the shoulder where I like to sit, and ran fingers through his head fur as he’s always stroked mine; and said “Come. Let me show you.”

And Master led him along, toward the room with the soft sheets and pillows where I'd nested so many times; and my heart died.

* * *

After a time the burrow was quiet. When I slipped from the cage – the first time I ever left it without being taken out by Master’s hand – I was afraid something would happen, but no; only more darkness and quiet. I crept along the baseboard for a time, then grew bolder. I’d learned, leading His armies, how to enter anywhere, climb any eminence, and the kitchen counter was easy. There was a paper package of the biscuits He feeds me, and I tore it with my teeth, scattering more than I ate. It felt good, in my anger, to take without permission. How could He turn away from me, His loyal Tom? I tipped a glass into the basin, but it didn’t break. Pulled down the lowest row of plant pots from the wall; they were friends, I couldn’t bring myself to hurt them, but I went from one to another, saying in the language of plants _He hurt me too, I know how you feel now._

I was hiding under the sofa when they came out. The sun was already high.

* * *

“Damn! My fault, forgot to close the cage. Clever little bugger, went right for the biscuits.”

“I think he might have had a gnaw at one of your cushions there.”

“Nothing a miracle can’t fix, who’s keeping count now? – oh, fuck and misery, the plants!”

“Nothing looks damaged – “

“Prob’ly missed having his bit of apple. ‘Fraid I was a bit, erm, distracted.” Crowley paused briefly, holding an overturned pot of _Pilea peperomioides_ in one hand, to pull Aziraphale to him with the other for a brief kiss. It felt as if they’d already been together for centuries. Which, of course, other than _this_ , they had.

“Tom? Ground Control to Major Tom?”

But neither the cage litter, nor the recesses of the bath (“They do go to water, don’t they?” said Aziraphale, trying to be helpful), nor the dark corners of the office yielded a glimpse of mottled rat.

“Not like him, he’s been with me dog years,” said Crowley. “Found him behind Sainsbury's right after Adam was born, already knew things would get rough, just didn’t have any idea _how_ rough. Took him on as a field marshal, s’pose he can enjoy his retirement now… ‘s’always liked sitting with me when there’s something good on the telly, p’raps he’ll come out tonight…”

“I confess I haven’t the earthliest how to entice a rat. I’m usually more concerned to chase them out. Destructive little blighters. Well, in a bookshop, at any rate.’

“He’ll probably be right in the cage when we get back,” said Crowley. “Let’s go have a look at the world. Reckon we saved it for something.”

* * *

“ _Our_ world,” said the hateful two-legger, the one who _chases us out_ and calls us names. And took Master’s hand, the hand that feeds me bits of bread, and grapes, and carrot, that strokes my fur and puts me on his shoulder. They had eyes for no one but one another. No one saw me dash through the door, before it closed and locked.

I remembered the back way, out the service door; I remembered to scuttle under the bins, to avoid the light of day. I felt for my armies, but none I’d led were near; sniffed a sandwich wrapper that had fallen from the bin. I’d have to learn to forage again as I once did. But not this bit of spoilt meat; there’d be something better, I was sure of it.

* * *

There were two-leggers who made loud distress calls when they saw me. There was a terrier that scented me and barked, though his Master only pulled his lead and walked on. I hid behind a car tyre, bewildered to be out here without my armies; somehow I didn't dare call them without Master's command. I found my way to more bins behind a block of houses, and stayed hidden.

By afternoon I was very hungry, but not yet hungry enough to eat what I’d found. Bits of slimy lettuce, sodden fragments of pizza crust; I remembered the night that Master’d given me little bites of tomato, asking if He should grow some for me (he never did). Nothing was worth more than a lick. I was growing bold enough to see if I could slip into one of their burrows and raid the pantry when I saw _it._

We pass down through generations the tales of cats like that monster, to frighten our pups into prudence. Scarred, kink-tailed, one-eyed, with a head larger than I am curled up, he strode down the mews like a king, black tail high, white paws smudged with muck. I dashed away.

He pounced.

I made it behind a bin. Darted toward the nearest entry. Just escaped his second pounce, feeling the huge paw on my tail-tip.

Shame all but forbids me to tell the rest, shame before my ancestors and those I led in the fray; but I feared this creature and his kind, and the refuse of the bins gagged me. I ran into a stinking drainpipe, which the beast blocked with his head; waited until he finally drew back, barely eluding him as I flashed back down the mews. For a moment I was cornered at an angle of the masonry, and I bared my teeth, ready to give the monster a fight; only to hear a human shouting “Shoo! Scat! Out wi’ ye!” and the creature fled.

An hour later I was back at Master’s home. At least I knew my way around it, and there were no cats.

Many lived in this great burrow. Perhaps I might find a new Master, one who wouldn’t turn from me. Meantime there would be places to hide, and the forage would be a feast compared to the filthy alleys. Even as I made my way to strange new rooms where I’d never been, I scented my chance.

* * *

“Still knackered, gonna sleep a few more hours, join me if you like – “

“My dear, that’s _why_ you’re _knackered_ , as you put it – “

“All right, I’ll blame you – “ A kiss snatched in the brief not-quite-privacy of the entry; after whole eras of pretending it away even to themselves, there was a giddy exhilaration in the risk of becoming a public spectacle. They’d already chanced a quick snog behind the Henry Moore Arch, held hands walking beside the Long Water; Crowley’s arm had stolen around the angel’s comfortable middle while they looked out over the Italian Gardens. “You seem, ah, quite _demonstrative,_ dear,” Aziraphale had said, though he didn’t pull away, wouldn’t have done for all the riches of the Earth. He’d seen Crowley smile often enough – smug, sly, mocking, triumphant – but he’d never seen him look simply _happy._

Which made the next few moments especially dismaying.

The lobby presented them with the peculiar tableau of the day concierge, a woman normally of grey-coiffed, formidable severity, hunkered on her stylish heels atop the reception desk while she spoke into a telephone handset.

“No, I need someone _right_ away. Tuesday won’t do. I tell you he was right up next to my keyboard, eating my Hob Nobs… Well, if you can’t, then I’ll just have to call another exterminator. This is an _exclusive_ building, we can’t have giant _rats_ sauntering round bold as brass –– Oh, Mister _Crowley._ Ah – I –– you’ve got a bit of mail – “ She looked nervously down at the floor, peered under the desk, tucking her knees together in a gymnastic agony of propriety.

“It can wait, Amelia.”

* * *

“We’re not actually meant to have any sort of pets. So I can’t just say he’s mine. Been using miracles for decades to keep the maintenance people out – just shows up on the records that all the work’s done – ”

“Are you certain she didn’t just see an ordinary rat? He might still be in here.”

“I can tell. He’s not. But somewhere about. Never been like this.”

“What ever do you imagine upset him?”

“Well, it’s only ever been me in the flat – “

Aziraphale, not quite persuaded, was circumnavigating the sitting room on hands and knees – a sight Crowley wished he could appreciate less distractedly – peering behind and under furniture at the wainscoting. Crowley flung himself back on the couch with one hand over his eyes, pushing up the glasses.

“Should’ve known the name was hexed. Just listen to the bloody song, but _no_ , I had to be clever.” It wasn’t lost on the angel that Crowley, who’d been all but flying without wings an hour ago, was near tears.

“I suppose you mean some sort of _bebop?_ ”

They’d been up and down the corridors, searched the fire stairs; lingered in a cosy little library nook in the mezzanine over the lobby, where residents left their read-once-and-forget mysteries and romances – there had been a small scurrying noise, but it could have been sheer imagination. In every dim corner and passage Crowley had chattered his sharp teeth, trying to coax an answer (the angel secretly found this adorable, though it didn’t seem the time to say so.)

“Reckon you think it’s a bit daft, saved the bloody world, stared down Heaven and Hell, _demon_ forfucksake, takin’ on about a rat...”

“It’s as I’ve always said, Crowley – deep down, you’re – “

“Ah, shut it.” At least that brought the demon’s grin back.

“Here, you said you needed a nap. Let me go by the shop, take in the mail, I’ll bring some things back. We can eat in, have another look round later. I predict that that dragon at the desk will be miraculously inspired to buzz me in.”

* * *

“Bloody hell, angel, we’re not feeding an army.”

“Hell was remarkably unbloody. Though damp.”

“Beside the point. That’s enough for a week.”  
  
“Well, we might find that things keep us indoors,” said the angel with maddening equanimity, maneuvering, who knew how – the stack of cardboard clamshells and plastic receptacles and boxes tied with string barely allowed him to peer over it – into the kitchen to deposit everything on the counter. “Avocado nigiri and tamagoyaki – sashimi didn’t seem like it would travel well – a tray of moussaka ready to heat up, that might be even better tomorrow – they threw in some baklava with the double order –– salade Nicoise from that little French cafe that puts things up to go, and cakes from the Belgian bakery – really, there’s nothing in your fridge but that stalk of celery and apples – suppose I ought to have expected the apples… Oh, and the driver of the exterminator’s van parked outside miraculously realized that he’d gone to the wrong location.”

Crowley’s embrace was bone-cracking.

* * *

I heard Him call, but I hid and wouldn’t answer. The hateful two-legger was with Him, and the gray-furred one’s distress call was still in my ears. I could tell Master was almost weeping – this is a thing the two-leggers do, because they need to wash their faces when their lives are very bad – and I wavered, but the hurt of being cast off was too fresh. I couldn’t bear it again. If I had known how to weep, I would have.

The hours went by. I found an especially flavourful bundle of papers to gnaw – the room I’d stumbled into was well supplied – and passed the time chewing it into shreds to make a nest behind a row of many, many others. Tomorrow I would look for a two-legger who wouldn’t give a distress call, show them I understood their speech. I would bring a rat army to serve them and array the troops at their feet. I would have a throne of soft cloth like the ones in this little room, not a cage full of shaved wood. I dared to dream. I could smell the foods now, tender vegetables, dainty sweets…

…I _could_ smell the food. I had had nothing but the screeching two-legger’s biscuit all day. The scent made my head light.

“I _thought_ I’d find you here. I know about rodents and books.”

It was the pale-furred two-legger.

“Can you hear me, Major Tom? …Well, I can hear you. As if I needed to. You’ve left quite a trail. One is reminded of Hansel and Gretel.”

Thoughts warred in me. I hated him. I missed Master, who could no longer be trusted. And the food pulled at me like a current of water (something all rats in this city know). Only the stout heart of a soldier held me in place.

“An excellent choice for shredding, however. I did pick up this _Fifty Shades Of Grey_ thing once. One could be forgiven for assuming it was a discourse on ethical ambiguity.”

I could pick out individual scents. I wondered if I was going to become like Master when he drinks fire, because my legs were wobbly under me.

“Now, we need to come to an understanding. You see, Crowley is very dear to me. And I can tell that you are very dear to _him_ , and I daresay he is very dear to you.”

My whiskers quivered.

“I should be distressed if you were to leave him on my account. He pretends, you know, but he’s very tender-hearted. I’ve seen him with children.”

I peered between the bundles of paper. He was kneeling, setting something out on the carpet (which I’d sampled, but found it tasted evil).

“I may have been unfriendly when we met. It’s been quite the taxing week, and we were rather done up.”

The scents were even more dizzying now. I could see he was opening a box.

“So as a bit of a peace offering. Well. This is sushi rice here – very sweet and sticky.” He laid something in what I realized was my food dish. “And here’s some bits of avocado, and green bean from the Nicoise, I’ve washed the vinegar off. This – “ I was trying to see more without being seen, but couldn’t help how excitedly I was sniffing nor my urge to make the tooth-call – “this is tuna, I’ve broken it up. And here’s a little buttery shortbread, and some crumbs of éclair.”

My nose was twitching. I distrusted him, but I was so hungry and the food smelled so good.

“I’ll just sit back. Come out if you’re so inclined.”

The smells overwhelmed me. My paws moved without my leave, and I came out of the nest of shreds and sniffed the rice. Oh, it was good, clean and sweet. I ate some of the crumbly biscuit, and some of the bean, and then I realized I was taking flakes of tuna from the two-legger’s soft fingers.

“What clever little hands your people have,” he said. “I must confess that in all these centuries, I’d never looked closely.” He raised one fingertip above my head while I snuffled the last bits of tender meat. “May I?”

The little strokes he gave were like our Mother’s grooming. I made the tooth-noise.

“I asked the young lady at the bakery if she knew a song about a Major Tom. She seemed amused by the question, but she played it for me on one of those clever phones. Couldn’t make head or tail of it – well, I think that’s the nature of _bebop._ What I know is that you’re his field commander.” A little crumb of egg now, so rich. “I’ve been one too, though my experience is far out of date – trust in our superior officers means so much. It hurt to lose that… But _you_ needn’t." I sat up on my hunkers and chirped, to say the food was good. "Will you come back with me? He misses you.”

He turned his hand palm up on the bad-tasting carpet, and I crept onto it. His pocket was softer even than Master’s, and smelled of dusty years and the scents the two-leggers put on themselves so that they can know each other, because their noses are so weak.

“I’ve – ah – made certain that Crowley will be sleeping _very_ deeply till we get back. So it will be a surprise.”

* * *

The burrow was dark, but sight means little to us; it was enough that it smelled of Master, and now a little of the other. We passed the plants, and my cage, and the pale-fur set me down on the pillow next to where Master slept, wound in the soft sheets I like so much, naked as a pup. "Ngk?” He murmured. Some of His sounds are almost like ours.

“I’ve brought someone to see you,” said Pale-Fur, and laid Master’s hand on me. He opened His eyes.

For a moment I feared something was still wrong. But now I know that they need to wash their faces when they’re very happy, too.

_finis_

**Author's Note:**

> Major Tom with his mottled coat is essentially the rat that a local Animal Warden fished out of my commode far back in the day, after a drought summer and some nearby demolition [= destruction of habitat] lured him to do a Shawshank Redemption waltz through the local sewers. Feisty beggar who banged his tin cup on the mesh walls of his trap and shrieked for his lawyer. I admired his pluck, so here is Tom.
> 
> (If you like Crowley with pets and haven't read "Catty-Cornered," which I posted a while back, check out more of our boy as a demon pushover for a critter.)
> 
> If you liked, share, reblog, comment! Come say hello on Tumblr @CopperPlateBeech


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